


We Have It All

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [15]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I haven't spoken to the person I wrote this for in like 7 months, I need to finish my WoT reread but where is the TIME, I wrote this back when I had WoT friends, I wrote this like a year ago but I forGOT TO POST IT, M/M, Nightmares, Prompt Fic, Reincarnation, god I miss cauthor, love confessions ayeee, the prompt was "Nightmare", this is so sad Alexa play jack o' the shadows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27991431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: Rand thinks of purpling lips, a body swinging from a tree, trapped in the stifling stagnancy of death. Thinks of words stuck in a throat that might have been his.
Relationships: Rand al'Thor/Mat Cauthon
Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415056
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	We Have It All

The moonlight filters through broken blinds onto a cold bed, and Rand, lying alone,  _ remembers _ . 

His eyes close, and he is standing in a desert of red sands and cloudless skies and a sun that seems closer than it should be. His mouth is parched, tongue too thick to swallow around even if he still had any saliva left, but Rand barely notices this, barely blinks, barely breathes. 

There is a tree a few paces in front of him, tall and black and withered, and if Rand could think he might wonder how such a tree came to grow in a desert like this. Perhaps it grew for this very purpose. 

There is a body hanging from the tree, and Rand can’t move. Why can’t he move? He takes in flashes of brown skin, turning purple, and dirty clothes. Why does it feel like he has been here before? The sand makes blisters on the soles of his feet and still he stands and stares as the rope turns. Red sand drifts over the land. A face comes into view. 

Suddenly he’s moving, and the sun feels hotter and he can hear the grains of sand shifting under his feet. Rand staggers, hands pressed to his mouth as something sick and twisted and tainted surges up inside him, and black spots color his vision, but the body is falling, the rope cut by some unseen force, and Rand catches him before he hits the ground. He isn’t breathing. Rand’s hands hover around him, and he can’t tell if they glow faintly red or if that is just the red sand playing tricks with his mind. Somewhere in the back of his head he can hear laughter that is familiar and not, mocking and not. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do. The sickness inside him twists his gut, makes his head spin, makes the back of his mouth taste like rotting fruit. He shuts his eyes, presses his hand over his mouth, tries to think, tries to speak, tries to cry out and if he could scream he would say the words he’s been keeping inside and please Light let him not be too late—

The body on the ground whispers, “Rand,” and Rand opens his eyes and—

“Rand!” 

Rand gasps and his eyes fly open; he takes in the moonlight, the grey ceiling, the muted sound of midnight traffic outside. The desert fades away, but he thinks he can still feel the burning sand against his feet. 

“Are you alright, Rand?” 

Rand turns towards the uncharacteristically quiet voice of his lover. He’s bleary-eyed, sitting up now, boxers rumpled, no shirt on, predictably, because he’d forgotten it was his turn to do the laundry, again. Rand had been annoyed with him for that, though now he can’t seem to recall the feeling. Surging forward, he buries his face in the crook of Mat’s neck. 

“Whoa,” Mat says, and Rand feels more than hears his soft laughter. “I was only a couple of hours late. Did you really miss me that much?” He’s taken ahold of Rand’s free hand, the one not clinging to Mat’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles over the birthmark on his palm. 

Rand thinks of purpling lips, a body swinging from a tree, trapped in the stifling stagnancy of death. Thinks of words stuck in a throat that might have been his. 

“Rand?” 

“I love you,” Rand murmurs into his skin. 

Mat stiffens at the words, but Rand can’t find it in him to regret giving them voice, after all this time. And then, slowly, Mat relaxes. He stops rubbing circles in Rand’s palm, instead weaving their fingers together. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, hesitantly, after a long moment. “I… love you, too.” 

“Good,” Rand sighs, and lets him go. 

They sink back into the pillows together, and Rand allows himself to forget the bitter memories of a life that might have been his, long ago, or might still be, in some unknowable future—all of it washed away in his lover’s warmth. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was missing WoT, so I took a journey back through my Rat Revolution fics, and found this one that I wrote for Lucia months ago and totally forgot to post on here rip
> 
> I need to write more cauthor it's been way too long


End file.
